


Do not speak to me of loss

by Tia_Pixie



Series: The Hobbit Related Fics [3]
Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: A LOT of Angst, All about the family ties, Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, In which Kili is pretty oblivious, Inside Thorin's head, Mentions of minor canonical character deaths, Quite a bit of fluff too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-05
Updated: 2013-01-05
Packaged: 2017-11-23 17:34:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/624776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tia_Pixie/pseuds/Tia_Pixie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin is not a forgiving man, but he thanks Aule his nephews are. Weighed down by grief as they come closer to where he lost his family, Thorin overreacts to his nephews' joke on the hobbit and does something he shouldn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Do not speak to me of loss

I am not of a forgiving nature – not blessed with the sweet, laughing disposition of my brother and nephews, nor the witty, affectionate countenance of my sister, though I might have been had fate been kinder to our family – and I have, on occasion, lost my temper a good many times with a good many people. But there are times now – increasingly so since word of _the signs_ began – when I am struck by such fury, such blinding madness that it feels I have no choice but to give in to it. I fight it, of course, but I am of such a choleric nature to begin with that perhaps my efforts go unnoticed. I think perhaps those closest to me and know me of old – Dwalin, certainly – realise this and I do, myself, attempt to remove myself from such situations before the damage can be done. Today had been such a time. Our day had been long and I had had little sleep the night before – though that is no more an excuse for me than it is for my nephews – I was, I admit, somewhat _tetchy_ by the time we rested to make camp. Even so, the manner in which my nephews joked with one another about such dangers as orcs hit a nerve that I thought long dead. I removed myself, gazing over the valley below in the twilight and attempted to escape the drumming in my ears that was accompanying hearing the Battle of Azanulbizar retold for the entertainment of the _hobbit_. As my old friend ended the tale, I could bear their eyes on me no longer and fled away into the forest and out of sight.

 

* * *

 

I felt his presence long before he spoke, saw him out of the corner of one eye, trying to gauge my mood. I waited.

"We didn't mean it," he began quietly, "it was a joke."

"I'm glad you find the decimation of your own kin so funny – I shall remember that if ever one of _you_ is in danger." He visibly flinched. Good, I thought bitterly. Let him be afraid – hurt – by me as I was by him. He released several shaky breaths and I felt somewhat sickened at myself but my pain was still raw. "This is no time for jokes," I told him, trying to keep my voice even. "You were not raised to be disrespectful of those that gave their lives for your future."

"You make too much of this – we meant no disrespect, Thorin," he implored, turning to face me, "I know – _we_ know – the sacrifices that have been made for our people, the losses you have suffered but – "

"Do you?" I asked, white-hot anger exploding in me, dragging me down in to the depths of my grief. "Do you know what it is to see your King's head severed from his body and held as a _trophy_? To stand on the field and know all but a handful of your kin are _dead_?" He stumbled back against a tree as I bore down on him, looking more afraid of me than I had seen in a long time. A voice, not unlike my sister's, screamed in my head that this was not my enemy but my nephew – loyal, carefree Fili who always, _always_ looked up at me with such determined adoration that I could scarce bear to look on him lest I see in his place my little brother.

Golden-haired Frerin. Sweet, loyal, brave Frerin. Dead Frerin. Ripped apart by orcs Frerin. Had my sister and I raised her sons to be so callous – so indifferent to their ancestors' tales – as to _laugh_ at his death?

My world went dark, and I was blinded to everything but my grief and fury. I grabbed him, slamming him into the tree with a sickening thud, and striking him hard across the face with my hand, my face a mere inch away from his as I raged. "Do not speak to me of loss, little boy! Not until you have had _your_ brother wrenched from you and _gutted_ like an animal before you – watched him die, _screaming_ your name and been helpless to stop it!"

I should like to say that in some moment of clarity, my love for my nephew overcame my grief; that I looked upon his sweet face, trailed as it was with tears and begged his forgiveness for my outburst. I did not. I released him, exhausted by my wild emotions, letting him slump to the ground and weep out his terror and pain, watching him impassively – though unnerved that I could do such a thing and feel nothing – until he dared look my way.

"We're sorry," he blurted out, his breath coming in short gasps, "Thorin, _Uncle_ , we're so sorry!"

Again, my sister's voice demanded I show her child the affection he deserved in that moment, asked where my honour had gone that I should attack my own kin so violently. I could not answer her; I knew not. I should have run to Fili, gathered him to me and soothed his pain, hushed his fright and assured him that I knew, _of course,_ _I knew_ , how sorry he was. I should have thrown myself at his feet and begged his forgiveness for abusing him so, when I knew that out of love and respect for me, he would not fight back and for putting such dark, _terrible_ thoughts into his head. I did nothing.

"Come, stand up," I ordered, my voice suddenly hoarse. He remained where he was, sprawled on the earth and staring at me, wide-eyed. "Stand up, I say!"

He did, wiping the traces of his tears from his cheeks as he did so. He would not look at me now, even as I handed him his dagger from where it had fallen in the commotion.

The breaking of twigs alerted us to another's presence and before long my younger nephew appeared, creeping towards us. Fili wiped his face once more and, darting a glance at me, hurried over to his brother.

"I got tired of waiting for you to come back," Kili accused quietly, clearly having sent his older brother to clear the air before attempting to reconcile himself to me. Wise, very wise – most likely Fili's idea. Looking closer at his brother, he asked hesitantly, "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Fili choked, and I watched him force a smile for his brother. Casting his faltering gaze over at me, he took hold of his brother's sleeve and pulled him away slightly. "Let's go back, eh?"

"But what about – ?" Kili trailed off, looking between the two of us, knowing something was wrong but blissfully unaware of what would have befallen him if he had come along first. I did not dare think of it myself. Though I believe Kili was considered the sweeter, better looking of the two – certainly, my sister always struggled to stay angry with him – Fili had always had my brother's face to shield him from the worst of my wrath. Not that anything up until now had even come close to my treating either of them this way. Frowning quizzically, Kili shook himself free of his brother's grasp and started towards me, his brother following reluctantly in his wake – as always.

"Thorin," Kili began, pausing in annoyance as his brother came to stop in front of him, slightly blocking him from my path. The intent was clear, though had I a mind to do so, I could easily have gotten to Kili. Fortunately, I had not – indeed, the very thought of laying my hands on him as I had his brother made my heart freeze. "We're sorry. For what we said earlier," he continued, face flushing with shame, "we…we were out of line – we're sorry. We didn't mean anything by it – it was just a..."

"Kili, that's enough," my elder nephew whispered from his brother's side, clearly hoping to avoid the word 'joke'. Shrugging, Kili turned his gaze back to me.

"We're really very sorry," he repeated, peering up at me. In his wide, dark eyes, I saw the open, unbridled admiration and cautious hope that I had seen so many times before and it threatened to be my absolute undoing. I felt a prickling in my own eyes – I was unworthy of this, of such unfettered love and worst of all, his brother knew it and said nothing. Clearly seeing my tears (though they were yet unshed), Kili turned to his brother looking both shocked and horrified – like a child who has broken its toy. Fili gazed back at me warily – his distrust, however warranted, was painful.

"Come," I said, smiling wearily at them both, "I have heard enough apologies for one night. Joke or no, it was badly done, without thought and from the desire to humiliate another – whoever he may be – but," here, I saw them both hold their breaths for a moment, "it is forgiven."

Kili came into my arms with the same eagerness as always and with a breathless, " _Thank you, Uncle_ ," that sounded so full of relief my eyes burned again. I embraced him – perhaps tighter than usual – muttering soft words of forgiveness mixed with stern cautions for any future misbehaviour.

Presently, he drew back, sensing something different and, in his eyes (and admittedly, my own), wrong. Turning, he cast confused, anxious eyes towards his brother who had not moved from his spot.

"Fili?" he murmured, clearly wondering why his brother had not joined us. He looked up at me, silently imploring me to ' _do something_!' – this was something very wrong, something new. Never – _never_ – had their mother nor I forgiven one and not the other for some joint mischief. But, if Fili would not come to me, the matter was obviously not dealt with between us.

Self-loathing bubbled inside of me as I reached out one arm, beckoning my elder nephew to me. I cannot describe my own fear at having lost either of my nephews, let alone both, simply because in a moment of wretched weakness I allowed myself to be overcome by my anger and grief over events that happened before they were even born. Fili's eyes narrowed slightly at my gesture and I felt my stomach lurch.

"Fili!" I called in as bright a tone as I could manage whilst trying to convey with looks what I could not bear to speak in front of Kili. Eventually, as his brother grew more confused and disconcerted, Fili started towards us. He would come for Kili, clearly no longer for me.

As he drew close enough, Kili grabbed his brother and near threw him into my arms before wrapping his own around both of us. If I had not been so anxious for Fili, I would have laughed outright for I knew how my youngest nephew's mind worked. He and Fili had done wrong, but had been forgiven and he was now free to enjoy the blessed affection between us that he had continually sought since their father's death when he was a very small child. All was right with Kili's world.

But not in my own. Nor in Fili's. Fili made a show of being content to rest in my arms for a short while – and perhaps, I hope, did find some small comfort in it – but it was wildly different to any embrace we had enjoyed before. His one arm, the other so tight around his younger brother, hung loosely at my back, and under my fingers I could feel him tremble every so often – from fear or righteous anger, I did not know. Reluctantly, though I would have liked to hold them both there indefinitely, I drew back. Pressing my lips briefly to Kili's temple, at which he grinned, I turned to do the same to his brother. Before I could do so, he withdrew from my grip as if burned, still watching me warily. I settled for nodding my acknowledgment, thanking him for his silence.

"Come on, Kili," he said, grabbing his brother's arm again, and turning him away from me, "Thorin needs his peace." He ushered him away in a manner so reminiscent of their mother, my dearest sister Dis, that shame once again threatened to overcome me.

I thought to follow but weariness overcame me and I sat, my back against the very tree I had earlier struck my poor nephew against. I sighed. I did indeed need peace.

 

* * *

 

He was watching him more closely, stood nearer – so near, they kept almost falling over one another. At first, Kili seemed to enjoy the closeness, enjoying the mischief it afforded him. He began with picking leaves from trees every so often and piling them in his brother's hood – he really did have quite the collection now. If Fili suspected anything, he had not said anything to stop him. When he grew bored of this game and his brother still did not let him be, Kili began to occasionally stop dead so that Fili (and anyone behind him) walked straight into the back of him, then dancing away up our procession, his brother in hot pursuit. I had not the heart – nor did I trust my position with Fili – to declare their behaviour completely unbecoming of their station, though it was. Nevertheless, our companions seemed to find it amusing to watch them and I was glad to have them here. What a miserable group of middle-aged men we might have been without them.  Though Ori is not so very much older than them, he has not the mischief in him.

At last, Kili tired of his brother's watchfulness and dropped back, annoyed, to walk with the hobbit. I wished he would not; what with my lads being so split between following me and supporting their mother, and the halfling's demanding to go back for things he's forgotten every five minutes we shall soon be persuaded to turn back if we are not careful.

My nephew's sudden appearence at my side both delighted and worried me. He did not speak and we went on in awkward silence for a few moments. I waited him out; there was nothing I could say to excuse nor explain my treatment of him and I feared saying the wrong thing. ' _I'm sorry'_ was wholly inadequate for the myriad of feelings I felt that morning.

"Thank you," he murmured after a while. I turned astonished eyes on him.

"Whatever for?"

"We didn't get eaten," he stated simply, looking everywhere but at me.

I floundered, torn between accepting it as the olive branch it appeared to be and telling the truth. "I did very little," I told him eventually, thinking of the way the Halfling had stalled for time and Gandalf had brought in the dawn.

He smiled slightly, a welcome sight if ever I saw one. "Kili would have gone on like that forever – his pride was hurt. ' _Infected_ ' indeed."

I smirked too, thinking of my friends' and nephew's indignation.

"I thought we might die this morning. I kept thinking about what you said," he told me, finally turning to look at me, "about Frerin, well, no, about _Kili_."

My heart skipped a beat at the very thought of having put such thoughts into my nephew's head. I had not been so thoroughly ashamed of myself as I had been these past two days for a very long time.

"I…I oughtn't to have – " I broke off, my voice utterly failing me. Rallying, I tried again, "Frerin's death weighs heavily on me, it grows worse each day the closer we come to Moria and I cannot…" My nephew stopped and we fell to the back of the line, he reached out one hand but seemed to think better of it. "I _will_ not allow you or anyone else to think that those monsters are something to be laughed at. But…I should not have said such things to you; _you_ should not think of things like that."

They were both too young, far, _far_ too young to think of things like that.

"You were younger than even Kili, Frerin even more so," Fili pointed out softly.

"Yes, I must have been," I admitted. Had I ever been so young and carefree as them? Had I ever been permitted to be? To think of Frerin now, so much younger than my nephews who in themselves were _so_ young brought yet more unshed tears to my eyes.

"You have never spoken of his death."

I had not. Not to them, nor my father nor even to my sister, though she begged to be told of his last moments. I could not bear to relive it myself at the time; I would not have burdened Dis with it as well. People told great tales of that battle – _Azanulbizar_ **.** I had taken my eyes off my brother for just a moment as the Pale Orc raised its trophy and hurled it towards me and when I turned back…

"I saw him carried off, and I could not get to him," I murmured, allowing myself to relive if only for a moment. I made my choice. My father, my brother or my King. I could not save all of them. I ended saving none of them. "He died cursing my name," I admitted. I had been too late for Thror, hesitated too long for Frerin and abandoned Thrain in favour of our people. My grandfather – my King – and my brother murdered, my poor father had gone mad with the grief.

Lost in my grief, I felt fingers interlocking my own. Glancing down, I saw Fili clasping my hand – which had, barely a day ago dealt him such a blow that he still bore the mark – in both of his own. I raised our hands together, pressing his to my lips firmly, rejoicing as he let me. I sighed against his hand, "Oh, Fili, please forgive me."

His eyes went comically wide – unsurprising, I could not recall the last time I apologised to anybody but my sister for a very long time. But, I asked his forgiveness and I meant it. With all my heart.

"Of course," he paused, seemingly trying to assess my mood. There were very few things I would not have allowed my nephew to say or do at that moment though I understand he had to look. He smirked to himself before adding, in a voice I suspected was meant to be my own, "Though it was badly done, Uncle. Very badly done."

I paused to glare before descending into relieved laughter. "I couldn't agree more," I admitted, smiling wanly at him. I was not of a forgiving nature, but I thanked Aule that my nephews were.

Suddenly, he sobered. Some dark thought flitting into his mind once more.

"Not Kili," he said determinedly, though his voice faltered slightly, "I'll never take my eyes off him. Not Kili, Uncle, _never_ Kili."

I looked at him fully, his eyes searching mine, seeking my old assurances that nothing would happen to his brother. No matter what had happened to _my_ little brother, no matter what dangers were out here, no harm would befall my nephews. Not to loyal, long-suffering Fili, the flaxen-haired moppet I had spent the best part of a century training. And not to brave, mischievous Kili, always following in big brother's footsteps, always as his shadow.

I raised my hands to cup his face, leaning my forehead against his. I was lying. Obviously, I was lying – I had no way of knowing what the future held for any of us. But he had known that when he had asked, and there was safety in that lie, in hearing what one has been told so many times before, just one more time. "No," I breathed softly, "not Kili. And not you."

"Or you?" came his reply, sounding so childlike I felt my whole body seize – _why_ had I brought them? They were so, _so_ young.

"Not me either," I told him firmly. "We are the last of our house – we go together or not at all."

**Author's Note:**

> There is now a companion piece to this, set in the final section break. This can be found on my profile entitled 'A Quiet Kind of Distance'


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